My Mainely Girl Adventures

Girl Time!

August 15, 2015 staciwarren1 Comment

IMG_20150730_143824540 — Erin fishing on the stream. (c) S. Warren

The Bear Referendum brought me new friends. One friend is Erin; she is also a hunter and fellow Woman of the Maine outdoors. I’ve never had a lot of time fishing or hunting with anyone other than John or the kids, so when I got the chance to go fishing with a new friend and hopefully show her how to fly fish in my favorite place to fish, I jumped on it.

No fishing on the Dead River today. (c) S. Warren

I couldn’t wait to go fishing. We planned it all out a couple weeks in advance. The river is usually down during the week so I was pretty excited that we’d be able to fish and not be competing with so many other fisherman that are there on the weekends. The Dead River is a rafting river so on weekends when they raft, the river rises and stays high until about one o’clock. Then it drops, we fish, and Sunday it repeats itself. The rest of the time, the river levels are determined by Brookfield, the owner of the dam, so fisherman are at their mercy. Three days out from our big day, we got rain, and a lot of it, but the river levels remained steady. The river was still running low the morning we headed out.

Fishing the Carrabassett by the Wire Bridge. (c) Erin M.

The trip takes an hour and half from my house, and once we leave Anson, cell phone coverage is spotty at best. This meant I couldn’t receive any more river level notifications and we’d have to hope it was still low. We weren’t so lucky. According to another fisherman, about a half hour before we arrived, the river was released and was raging way above any fishable level. I was pretty disappointed since John and I had just come off a stellar weekend of fishing and I didn’t want to let my friend down. In an attempt to salvage the day, we headed to the Carrabassett River. John and I had fished the river and caught some nice brook trout below the wire bridge the week before, and I knew it was accessible and safe to navigate. The scenery was awesome and the river was also high, but still fishable.

We didn’t catch anything, but had a great time checking out all the wildlife and sharing tips on fishing. The one thing we did before the day ended, was to plan another day…after all, we couldn’t possibly strike out twice on getting to fish the Dead.

I watched the river levels every day. I also noticed a systematic behavior of the dam operators. Thursday mornings before the weekend with a rafting release scheduled, they cut the water back to 375-385cf/s…perfect for fishing. What I didn’t realize was that for two straight weeks there would be no rafting release…and you guessed it..the water rose, and it stayed there. I was Dead wrong…the water levels at 1120 cf/second were so high that once again we couldn’t fish it.

Fishing the Kennebec by the dam. (c) Erin M.

This time, I had a plan B in place. I had done my research and decided we’d take on the Kennebec River which also meant facing my long held fears. We parked and hiked down in by the eddy. The water was moving fast but it didn’t look unconquerable. I can say I was nervous because I wasn’t familiar with the river, the drop offs and all the childhood baggage of fearing the Kennebec. I managed to get myself out on this rock that was almost impossible to stand on. I don’t know if it was actually my fear, or my feet screaming to stay on the rock, but I didn’t’ stay long before I gave up and joined my friend on the shore. With no hits we decided to try the other end closer to the dam.

It was a hot muggy day, but the sunshine was still welcome. Dressed in waders and boots, we hiked down to the dam and made our way down to the water. First cast out with my big drake fly, I get a hit when I least expect it…yes, I was talking….and I lose the fish! I get so excited I’m screaming, “Oh my gosh, that was a big fish!” not realizing that if you’ve never caught a fish on a fly rod, you don’t know that feeling of what it’s like to get a big one on the hook. My excitement was contagious to my friend Erin, and it warded off the thirst that was slowing draining my energy for a while. Getting no more hits and roasting in our gear, we decided to head back to the car and get something to drink and eat. By the time we make it back to the car, we are both drenched in sweat…but we didn’t care! Hats on and sweaty pits, we laughed it off as being Women of the Maine Outdoors. We headed back to a store, bought our sandwiches, crawlers to fish with, and drinks, many of them, and we headed out to a different spot much different from what we had been trying to fish. After all, I wanted my friend to catch a fish!

Owls keeping watch as we fish. (c) Erin M.

Nice native brook trout! Tasted yummy too! (c) Erin M.

I was pretty proud of myself for finding the spot since I hadn’t been there for a few years, although we did go the wrong way at first. Once we found it, I informed Erin of the poison ivy that grows there…lots of it. So much so, we decided to wear the fishing gear to keep the poison ivy and bugs off us. It wasn’t nearly as hot since we were in the shade. As we made our way in, we came across two piles of bear poop, lots of turkey tracks and even saw two fledgling owls. Fishing was slow at first. As with any small area to fish, the hardest part is getting the darned worm cast out far enough from shore to actually lure in a fish. We had some good laughs and I climbed out on a tree to rescue a worm caught up in some branches. Fish taunted us as they jumped for flies and bugs while we kept patient and fished with worms. After Erin tried a few attempts to catch one of the fish, I gave it a try. I got lucky and it finally took the bait. I caught a nice 10 inch native brook trout. So this time we didn’t go home empty handed, but there’s already a third trip in the works…and next time Erin will catch a fish! Hopefully the Dead River cooperates and lets us finally have a chance to fish. I know those fish will be ready for some of my tasty looking flies on top of the water!

A big thank you goes out to my friend Erin for a day of fishing and friendship with talk that didn’t encompass my nails, shopping, working out guilt, dieting or any self-deprecating conversations.

And that’s just another reason more women should get in the outdoors.

Bear Season Take Two – Week 1

August 5, 2015August 5, 2015 staciwarrenLeave a comment

Last year was my first official bear hunting season, yet last year’s anti-bear hunting referendum in Maine was in full swing, and I wasn’t able to fully enjoy what might have been my first and last bear season. I dang near cried when the end of the season came and I hadn’t gotten my bear. The threat that we might lose the ability to manage Maine black bears because a bunch of anti-hunting animal activists could lie and twist facts on 40 years of bear research was disturbing to say the least. I never campaigned so hard to get the facts out to all my social media friends, and some now former friends because they got sick of my posts. Oh well. I’m passionate about hunting, and I’ve always been a science-minded woman who makes decisions on facts and not claims surrounded in emotion, and on top of that, I made a lot of new friends in the process.

So thanks again to all my hunting and non-hunting friends who “get it” and for voting “No on 1”. Maine bear hunting is safe for now, but not forever. The Humane Society of the United States will be back will lots of other lies, inaccurate and misleading information, and staged videos, but I hope after this season you’ll get to know more about bear hunting and will even better understand the facts. I’ll be blogging about my/our adventures, so wish me luck!

11825742_10205477620473503_4450377118236654907_n — Big bear claw marks. Yowza! (c) S. Warren

Last Saturday, August 1, 2015, marked the first day bear bait could be placed out for the 2015 hunt which begins August 31st. This year we obtained permission to once again hunt a privately owned mountain about an hour and a half from home. Thank you Mr. S! This 1,000 acre property is gated, but not entirely off limits to outsiders because the Appalachian Trail runs adjacent to part of the property. We take this into consideration when we place our baits since I use a gun and wouldn’t want to be shooting in the direction of hikers even though we’re legally far enough from them, but more so, even though it’s illegal to tamper with baits, we don’t want to take a chance that some anti-hunter hiking through would find our site and try sabotage it. Avoiding “issues” is the reason we get permission year after year, and we don’t want to jeopardize that relationship. We’ve already had bear at one of the three sites we bait and I’m stoked because it was my spot!

With permission from a landowner and former high school classmate, we set up a second location with about 100 acres only 40 minutes from home. Thank you Paul and Bea! We were pretty excited to see so much bear sign. Bear poop and clawed up beech trees from previous bears made the setup seem a lot quicker…that and the fact that sons Zack and Tyler joined us. For now we have one bait on it, but may add a second if it turns out to be a productive site, meaning big bears visiting it. 😉

D55SRC_V068.C01031.061__FG=8000,FT=66606,NIR=0,GM=30, EV=67,PY=0,DY=61,GB=0x80,SG=0x70,EL=1236,AEY=0,VC=255,VT=0 — Two cubs or mother and cub…not what I want to see. The benefit of bait is being able to determine what’s there. (c) S. Warren

Long before we could bait, we made arrangements to get bait, which can sometimes be difficult if you wait until the last minute. We’ve used a host of different types of bait. Last year’s bait was cattle feed from the Midwest; I figured if it was good enough for beef cattle, it was good enough for bear. It consisted of mostly cookies and nuts…lots of them and chocolate, which we’ve since learned can be toxic to bears if they eat too much. The raccoon and squirrels liked it better than the bear did. In fact, probably half of the bait we put out is eaten by other critters and not bear.

This year’s bait is nothing we’ve had before: lots of fritter-like-spice cake-like cake-muffin-glaze-like…all mixed together and really fragrant. We also have caramel, blueberry pie filling, grease, and a bunch of scents like anise oil (smells like licorice), Northwoods Bear Jelly that’s waterproof and scented with anise and beaver castor (smells like stinky beaver hormone), and a cherry burst sprinkle additive. The Bear Jelly is a new product for us but it seems we’ve had bad luck when it comes to baiting. We’ll just get one site baited only to have it rain so it washes the scent away, so waterproof please don’t fail us! The cherry burst is like confectioners sugar on a dough-boy, and the smell is so strong your mouth waters when you smell it, and all necessary to hopefully lure in a mature bear for me to harvest. Bears have an extraordinary sense of smell which means not only do I have to attract them away from preferred natural foods, but also not have them smell me.

We can’t wait to go back and check and fill our baits. It’s going to be exciting to see who’s there and who’s new. I hope there are less critters and more bear this year. More to come!

My beautiful picture — Big bear! (c) S. Warren

D55SRC_V068.C01031.061__FG=2250,FT=76953,NIR=1,GM=41, EV=48,PY=23,DY=48,GB=0x80,SG=0x12,EL=1428,AEY=100,VC=255,VT=0 — Red squirrel…too many to count…they fight with chipmunks, grey squirrel and mice for the food. (c) S. Warren

D55SRC_V068.C01031.061__FG=1250,FT=26890,NIR=1,GM=41, EV=36,PY=24,DY=51,GB=0x80,SG=0x4,EL=499,AEY=225,VC=255,VT=0 — Even vultures and crows come down for something to eat. (c) S. Warren

A Rude Awakening

August 4, 2015August 5, 2015 staciwarren3 Comments

October is my favorite month. In fact, my husband John and I were married in October. We had initially picked the first Saturday in November to get married, but that was supposed to be the first day of deer season, so we bumped it back a week earlier so not to interfere with hunting. After all, nothing should come between a man and opening deer season. (I didn’t hunt then so it really was all about him.)

As luck would have it, the October date turned out to be the first year that Maine decided to make deer season earlier…and you guessed it. We were scheduled to be married on the first day of hunting season. After putting my foot down that I was not going to take a black marker to the invitations and change the date, John conceded and we got married as planned.

The first day of hunting season has always been a huge event in our family, so when our youngest son finally turned 10, John wanted to be ready to take him out. Friday afternoon was an iconic picture perfect Maine fall day. The sun was shining, and the Indian summer was in full force. John had scouted beforehand and decided to put up two hanging tree stands overlooking a well traveled deer lane on a knoll not far from the house.

When I first started hunting, we didn’t have many tree stands and we considered ourselves resourceful when John built some, since anything was better than the old rickety nailed on tree stands of the past. We owned hanging stands, and some of those were homemade. We also had some screw-in tree steps, some strap-on ladder steps, and homemade ladders to get into our stands. Ladder stands were the newest thing on the market and we had purchased a “buddy stand” which seats two people, to use when John and I first hunted together. I really, really like that stand.

The majority of the time, I used the homemade or a combination of the homemade stands since we had several places to hunt and we wanted as many options as possible as the season went on. When I look back, it’s amazing I even continued to hunt given how hard it was for me to climb into stands. I really thought John was testing me because some of these stands were so challenging to get into. I was always athletic and strong, so realizing I couldn’t climb into these stands as easy as I thought I could made me try even harder to succeed.

I had the stand that had strap-on ladders, that led to climbing several feet of hemlock limbs only to be totally spent by the time I reached the actual stand. More than once, I’d have to stop and catch my breath, take a break and pray I wouldn’t fall out of that tree. By the time I finally made it into the stand, I’d be a wash of sweat.

Another stand we still use requires climbing a pine about 25 feet high to get the stand. I’ve only climbed that tree three times because it literally takes all the strength I have to climb it. This big old tree overlooks a swail grass area known for deer crossings. After climbing tree steps, I have to hold onto limbs so big it requires me to hug the branches, not hold onto them with my hands. Every step has to be calculated so that I can step onto my stand, and unlike a lot of my stands, coming down is just as scary.

Then there was “tall stand” because it was in a tall tree. It was located down in the bog which wasn’t some place I craved to be. It consisted of a small maple tree with it’s top broke out and a board perched on top of it. After climbing screw in steps set too far apart for my short legs, and then shimmying up two pine saplings I finally made it onto the platform where I threw myself across it and lay there trying to figure out how to actually maneuver into a sitting position.

And finally, there was the tree that wasn’t that bad to climb into, except that I had been sick with the flu for a couple days and when I sat in the stand, the wind blew so hard that the tree swayed back and forth all night; it moved and bent so hard I had to hang on in fear of falling out of the stand. I’m not sure if it was the flu or the swaying, but I was not a happy hunter.

That’s right, I was afraid of falling out of all those trees because not once did I ever wear a safety harness or use any type of system to protect me from a fall. None of us used a safety harness.

Getting ready to bear hunt...safety harness in place! — Selfie….Getting ready to bear hunt…safety harness in place! (c) S. Warren

Rude Awakening Day: On October 30, 2009, John had found the perfect spot to take our youngest son. He remembered he had a stand already hanging from the previous year, so he decided to check it out. Climbing about twenty five feet up the tree, he hung the second stand next to the existing stand. Then he cautiously climbed onto the existing stand. He tested the tree stand as he hugged the tree, putting his weight on it, and then gave a couple jumps. “Good to go”, he thought. He settled into the stand and looked out over the oak stand, just enjoying the fall afternoon view. A minute later, all our lives changed.

The tree stand made a loud snap; it was the weather-rotted strap breaking. John fell to the ground, landing with his back onto a stump. He laid there unable to move. After what seemed like forever, he rolled over onto his hands and knees and began coughing up blood. He knew he was hurt and had to get out of the woods fast because he didn’t think anyone would find him. After not being able to reach anyone with his cell phone, he decided to walk out. John made it to his truck, and then he drove himself to our house. Our daughter rushed him to the hospital in Waterville. After being examined, he was transferred to Portland for trauma care for seven days. He suffered broken vertebrae, ribs, shoulder blade, a ruptured spleen, punctured lung and several smaller breaks and bruises.

D55SRC_V068.C01031.061__FG=1750,FT=31471,NIR=1,GM=41, EV=40,PY=28,DY=51,GB=0x80,SG=0xc,EL=584,AEY=193,VC=255,VT=0 — John baiting before he sits in his tree stand. Note the climbing harness is on. 😉 (c) S. Warren

Fast forward to today. John is lucky to have come away not crippled or permanently injured from his fall. He still hunts, but he and none of us hunt unless we wear a safety harness. “I never thought I needed a harness, but I’ll never go into a tree stand without one now” says John, “and I’ll never use a tree stand that’s been hanging for a long period of time.”

We also gave up our homemade stands, not because they weren’t sturdy, but because the price of metal tree stands have come down. We change our straps every couple years and never leave them hanging anymore. We’ve added Prusik knot life lines to the big pine and I only use ladder stands now. I’m a much happier hunter knowing that not only can I climb into stands but also my family is safe from tragedy.

Bear hunting season is about to begin and that means the beginnings of sitting or standing in tree stands, so when you go out this season, please use a safety harness system. Happy Hunting!

My Love-Hate Relationship With Water

July 17, 2015July 24, 2015 staciwarren1 Comment

I love summer. I love swimming when it’s hot. I love the smell and feel of the water. I love to see calm glass-like water with native brookies rising. I prefer the warmer fresh water over ocean water. Life is, and should be, good. Yet, for as long as I can remember, I’ve had this love-hate relationship with water, in particular, when it comes to recreating in it. I have a long history of training to dislike water, and especially rivers. As a child it seems that when there was a tragedy, it involved rivers. I heard story after story about the Kennebec River, which legend says to claim at least one person each year. A family of three moved to our neighborhood after she and her husband lost two of three boys, who fell through the thin ice on the Kennebec. My other neighbor’s grandfather was a victim of the Kennebec after he was swept off the dam while working in Skowhegan. A father and son drowned in the Kennebec river one spring, and teens are said to have drowned while swimming “the ledges”, a strictly forbidden spot on the Sandy River, and rafters have died on the Dead River. Perhaps these tragic stories were told by my parents as an attempt to teach us a healthy respect for the rivers, or to voice their own fears because neither of my parents were swimmers; however whatever the reason, it’s had a lasting and negative effect on me as an adult.

Fishing on the pond. (c) S. Warren — Fishing on the pond with life jacket on. (c) S. Warren

So without question, the Kennebec River was totally off limits to recreating, and since we didn’t have a pool, if we wanted any type of relief from the heat, we ventured to the local swimming hole on the Sandy River. The waters were controlled by a dam; sometimes the river was high, and sometimes not. Each year, the river changed due to the spring floods, so we never knew what we’d encounter for depth and current. I struggled crossing the river to our swimming hole, but once there, I loved it. Once I was in my safe spot, I swam, but I never swam where the older kids did because I was afraid of being carried away by the current. It didn’t help that despite my belief I was a good swimmer, I have never been a strong swimmer. Taking free swimming lessons in Smithfield offered through the Red Cross meant two weeks a year to learn how to swim. It also meant facing my inherent fear of deep water when we were forced to dive off the float. I finally passed Beginner’s level just before junior high…and I never went back. My parents eventually put in a giant in-ground pool which meant no more trips to the river. Having a pool provided me an escape from my fear of the river, but it never erased it.

1915274_101150119911204_2093097_n — My oldest son Zack whitewater kayaking (c) S. Warren

My fear transformed into the mother who was always making sure there were life jackets involved in anything water related. Even though the legal age requirement for kids to wear a life jacket is 12 years old, I always told my kids 16 years old. Hey, it worked for me. I worried seeing my oldest son swim too far from the boat despite the fact that he was on the water every day working for a marina, had his captain’s license, and loves whitewater kayaking. While my husband and older son choose not to wear one, I refuse to swim outside of the boat without a life jacket, and I always wear my life jacket in the canoe. I’m there to have a good time, and I’m not about to let a little water hold me back!

11722147_625566267580733_2889021867153373577_o — All smiles in the beginning (c) S. Warren

As my love for hunting and fishing grew, it spurred this desire to try all kinds of adventures. I had never been whitewater rafting but had always wanted to try it, but at the same time I was scared out of my mind. When we finally were given the opportunity to whitewater raft the Kennebec, I was pretty excited and I can even say I had a good time during the actual rafting of the rapids.

At the end of the ride, the river flows softer, and many rafters got out and floated alongside the rafts. Oh joy! The photos don’t tell the story of my being convinced to get out of the raft and swim along side of it. My helmet was too big and kept falling over my eyes. The current was stronger than I thought. I could barely move in the water, which was paralyzingly cold even though I had a wetsuit on. When I got my bearings, my son was floating away and I panicked to grab him. Although I thought he was struggling, he swears he wasn’t. This story has only added fuel to the hazing I take from my oldest son regarding my fear of water. Once he was safely back in the raft, and I was hauled aboard, I somehow felt like a failure right then. Looking back, I now know that I had taken a big step towards my fear of river water. I still hope to go back again for a “do over” with a more positive outcome.

Whitewater rafting the Kennebec. (c) S. Warren

Even though I didn’t have the best experience, I did challenge myself and that’s a motto that I’ve been trying to live by every time I do something new. I enjoy pushing myself out of my comfort zone. I take each time I do something and make it a challenge. I actually get in the water on the Dead River, Sandy River and Carrabassett while I fly fish. If I didn’t I wouldn’t be able to catch all the wonderful fish I’ve caught. I don’t wear a life jacket because where I go, the water is only about waist deep and I know my limits. Unlike the boys, I have no intentions of taking an unplanned swim. With proper waders, boots and my hiking stick, I have been able to navigate the river and fish, and that’s what I love most. I still face my fear of river water every time I step in the river, but it’s a healthy one. I still plan to fly fish the Kennebec River this summer, and I’ll let you know how that goes. In the meantime, get out there. Be safe, be smart, and challenge yourself!

101_7078 — Dead River- my favorite fishing hole. (c) S. Warren

100_6736 — Taking a break from paddling and checking out the lean-to on the Appalachian Trail. (c) S. Warren

100_7038 — Tubing: Mandatory life jackets for everyone. Tyler and sister Becky tubing on Long Pond. (c) S. Warren

Reflections of Learning Not to Fear

July 15, 2015July 17, 2015 staciwarren4 Comments

IMG_20150627_183604851 — My main squeeze John ❤ (c) S. Warren

Reflecting on our recent weekend of fishing the river, I need to give kudos to the wonderful man I married over thirty years ago. John’s a true sportsman in every way and his willingness to share his knowledge, to learn new things together, and to give me space to grow as a sportswoman has made our relationship stronger than ever. I even feel a little guilty that it took me so long to find the love of fishing and hunting.

IMG_20140524_195525319 — T , Mom and Dad trying to do a selfie on one of our trips. (c) S. Warren

And so I confess. I say ‘we’ more often than ‘I’, since I never go camping or fishing alone…and I don’t want to. I enjoy OUR time whether it’s just the two of us or the entire family. For me, being an outdoors woman doesn’t mean you have to do outdoors things with only women, or on your own in order to prove yourself. In fact, I think it’s more important to be an ambassador to encourage women to get outdoors…spread the enjoyment and eliminate fears. Share your experiences, skills and knowledge not only with other women, but with family, friends, and yes, even men…anyone so that women aren’t the anomaly when it comes to the outdoors.

IMG_20150711_200025970_HDR — Sunset at the Pond (c) S. Warren

IMG_20150529_184527246 — Rabbit that appears every time we drive this road..same spot. same rabbit. (c) S. Warren

Our weekend was fabulous in many ways. We had great weather most of the time. The bugs were minimal, the river was low enough to fish–not ideal, but we could fish it, and we caught lots and lots of fish. We caught fish on wet flies, dry flies, and nymphs. We also saw lots of amazing plants and wildlife: almost ripe blueberries, wild cherries, purple bell flower, a cow moose and her calf right near camp, a whitetail on the island, and crows galore. I saw the first trout ever to jump completely out of the water and then hit my fly on the re-entry, (which I caught and released), our resident rabbit on our way to the pond, and the most beautiful sunset from the canoe immediately followed by the first Hex hatch we had ever seen–right at nightfall. Literally, there were drakes emerging everywhere, fish rising and jumping everywhere, and we couldn’t catch a darned thing because it was getting too dark! Night one closed with campfire happiness with skies so dark the stars seemed endless along the Milky Way and fast moving satellites.

So back to reflecting. I see, smell, hear and experience so many wonderful things that it’s hard to focus on one special thing about my weekend that would have meaning. Except for the one image that keeps going through my mind…the one of a few years ago of this twenty-something woman in waders, fly rod in hand heading out by herself down this long road to fish. She was confident. She walked with purpose and direction and never flinched…and I bet she caught fish. She wasn’t afraid to be alone, or least she didn’t show it, and I wanted to be like her.

11141224_10205319331396375_4636217521049186223_n — My beautiful brookie..stocked but still a lot of fun to catch. (c) S. Warren

I wanted to be able to grab my fly rod, go fishing, not worry about being alone, not being afraid of anything, or having the need to have someone watch after me, as my husband who only means well, would do so often. We’ve fished, but we’ve never fished far from each other, always having each other in our line of sight. At one point, he wanted us to have walkie talkies…we don’t. He wouldn’t fish out of my sight because he was worried about me being harassed by other men, getting hurt or falling in the river. Being a woman on the river is pretty uncommon, and being a woman who fly fishes seems even more unique. I refuse to say being a woman on the river is lonely since I’m never lonely. I wish there were more women on the river; they are truly missing out. Over the years, instead of being a victim of my fears, I’ve decided to walk with a purpose and direction and never flinch…and I catch fish. Fishing and hunting have given me courage to face my fears and I like it!

This year marked the first year that John fished entirely out of my sight, not only for a short time, but for at least couple hours. We just fish; it’s no longer about it being okay if he fishes somewhere else that isn’t where he can see me…and I’m not afraid. He didn’t worry about me as much as he used to, or at least he didn’t show it…and I’m okay with that. I’ve learned to hoot if he’s downwind of me when I catch a fish so he’ll know I really do catch fish.

Of course, John will always be there trying to protect me. He did confess to me at the end of the weekend that as he went down the bridge bank that I walk around through the trail because my knees don’t do downhills, he encountered a very, very large snake. A three-foot-long-brown garter snake. Big and Fat…and he chased it off before I saw it. I have already encountered one snake in that area this season, but it was a small one. Since I don’t like snakes and jump even when I see dead snakes…that snake might have given me a heart attack if it was indeed as big as he said. I know…I’m a work in progress…Thank you Sweetheart…that’s the kind of watching over I need.

Teaching Someone to Fish

July 8, 2015July 8, 2015 staciwarren1 Comment

While I spend the majority of my time fly fishing in rivers and ponds on fresh water, we as a family have long been beach bums the week the Fourth of July. To that end, we put down our fly fishing rods and pick up the ocean rods and head to the mid coast for some camping, fishing and relaxing.

The particular campground we go to has demographically changed in who comes to the island. Many if not most of the campers we see are from south of Kittery. They either camp a lot and bring the house along with their kids, or they are the Millennials who bring a small car, small tent, bikes, and beer…lots of it. Few bring fishing rods. So when my husband and I were fishing, and we spot a man and his son with newly purchased fishing rods still in the packages, who then asks for help, we happily oblige. We offer tips where to fish, when to fish, and even offer up our secret bait for catching striped bass, which we call Striper. We wish them, “good luck, be careful” and go on our way as they assemble their gear and eagerly get ready to fish.

We fish until it’s time to head out for fireworks so we make our way back to the campsite, drop off our poles and then head back to the beach. The kids want to climb the steep granite wall that they’ve been waiting all day to do before it gets too dark, so we head back to where we were fishing earlier. Much to our dismay, there lay on the rocks, right where our visiting novice and son opened them…all the packaging to the new fishing gear they had so eagerly presented us. I don’t have a picture to show you since my phone needed to be charged, but honestly had it been charged, I wouldn’t have and didn’t think about taking a photo of the trash until I started writing about it…however, trash is trash…unsightly and disgusting.

Now whether or not you fish, you shouldn’t litter. I didn’t think I’d have to remind, let alone educate, our visitor that the reason Maine is so beautiful is because real outdoors men and women pick up after themselves. In all fairness, this isn’t my first sightings of trash on my adventures, and I can guarantee that all the trash I saw this weekend was not the sole result of visitors south of Kittery.

2006 - When striper fishing was good...we'd catch at least one each day. (c) S Warren — 2006 – When Striper fishing was good…we’d catch at least one each day. (c) S Warren

As a fisherman, you accumulate lots trash and unfortunately see lots of trash: line, hooks, lost lures, worm containers, and beer cans, to name a few. It’s our responsibility to be good stewards of the environment, and I guess this means I need to remind novices that fishing also means no littering.

My biggest disappointment was the father not being a good role model for his son. As outdoors people we must not only be role models for our children, but also for others, and if we litter, it tells them that we think it’s okay and that we don’t care. If you think a little line here or there doesn’t matter, just think about money. If a lot of small gifts add up to one big gift, then a lot of small trash adds up to one big mess. Any trash is too much.

Tips for keeping fishing litter under control:

Simply CHOOSE not to litter. Never mind the fines, it’s simply WRONG.
Bring a trash bag. Any kind will do, but use it. Make sure it can’t be blown away by securing it to your boat or cooler.
Reserve one of your vest pockets for debris if you don’t have one of those handy trash keepers
Buy one of those handy trash keepers. Here’s a couple to see what they are – monoMaster or the PioPod microtrash container
Pick up others’ trash when you see it. It may not be yours, but by picking it up, it keeps Maine clean, and if others see you do it, they may too follow suit.

Please be considerate when you fish, go to the beach, hike the trails, or simply enjoy Maine’s great outdoors, and take your trash out with you when you leave.

P.S. We didn’t catch any Striper. Back to the river next weekend!

Fishing With the Ones You Love

June 30, 2015July 1, 2015 staciwarren2 Comments

My son fishing the river. Photo copyrighted.

Yes, fishing, particularly fly fishing has become my passion during the spring and summer. We (me, my husband and youngest son) climb snowbanks in the spring and continue to test the river until the fish finally arrive. When the water cooperates, we are on the river for the entire day, or just as soon as it drops after the morning rafting release.

Staci fly fishing — Ready to climb snowbanks…it’s early but hey…why not try! We weren’t the only ones. Photo copyrighted.

Calm waters on the pond. Waiting for risers. Photo copyrighted.

When the wind is right, we head to the pond for native brook trout that we fly fish for out of a canoe until the fish stop biting or the river drops–whichever one comes first. All three of us in a canoe, taking turns, nit-picking at each other for not calling out “casting” before we cast, helping each other net our catch while not flipping the canoe, and learning how to fly fish.

100_6670 — Campfire cooking..meat is the hubby’s specialty and I’m okay with that. Photo copyrighted.

What has made fly fishing so special for me are the times I get to spend with my family. I am no longer the girl on the outside looking in, but an active participant on equal ground, and I can hold my own. Shopping is fun for all of us. We make our trips to sporting goods stores searching out our favorite flies, lines, tippets, and streamers. We share our tips, secrets and our favorite fishing holes. We support each other when we catch, release or lose that one that would have been the catch of a lifetime. We share our meals discussing how we should prepare and cook our catch. We are no longer doing our own separate things like we do so often at home; we are sharing the experience together as a family.

100_6693 — Hubby in the back, son in the middle. We added an extra seat for him, and I’m up front. Photo copyrighted.

Yes, fishing with the ones I love is really all I know, and I couldn’t imagine it any other way. However, I have made other women friends and we’re venturing out. Not only loving to fish but getting women involved in learning how to fish is so rewarding. So girls get out there and fish. Don’t be afraid, be fearless!